Inside
by Jadina Cookie
Summary: AU fic. Following the infarction, House leaves Princeton and takes a job as a prison doctor where he meets inmate James Wilson. This fic will contain slash and adult situations. My first House MD fic
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **This is my first piece of fanfiction so all feedback is welcome but please play fair  I was inspired to write this fic by the film _The Shawshank Redemption_ and the excellent story "Five Years" by Snark-bait

This fic will contain slash and adult situations, if either ofthese aren't your thing don't read.

For the record, all my knowledge of the American penal system comes from television and the movies. If I have made a mistake please let me know and I will be more than happy to correct it.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything you recognise in this story. House MD is the property of David Shore and the Fox network

Greg House lay awake staring at the ceiling and cursing the injury in his leg that had woken him yet again. He shifts on his pillows slightly in an attempt to alleviate pressure in his right thigh and begins to massage the wasted muscle with both hands. After a few minutes he sighs and reaches without looking to his bedside table where his fingers find a small orange bottle. He brings it in front of him and scowls slightly before tipping a pill on to his palm and dry swallowing it. He caps the bottle and turns to put it back looking at the digital clock on the table as he does so. 4.30. _Shit _thought House. He was due to get up for work in two hours. He decided it was futile to try to get back to sleep when the Vicodin wouldn't hit for at least 15 minutes. "Fuck it." House pulls the sheets of him and gently swings his legs to the floor. Taking the weight on his good leg he stands and slowly makes his way to the bathroom. Bracing himself against the wall behind the cistern, he takes a piss then turns on the shower. Waiting for the water to heat, he strips off his t-shirt and boxers then steps under the hot spray, resting his head on the tiles. _Today is going to be a long day._

-----

After his fourth cup of coffee, House was definitely feeling more human. He stares at the empty mug in his hands. _Ah caffeine_ he thought, smiling slightly. _My love for you will never die._ Putting the cup in the sink, he grabs the cane propped against the counter and moves into the small sitting room. He pulls his jacket from the coat stand and shrugs himself into it, checking that his ID is still clipped to the pocket, and picks up his leather backpack from the floor pulling it onto his shoulder. Taking a quick glance around the sparsely decorated apartment, he grabs his keys from the small table by the door and leaves for work. It was only a short walk but by the time he reaches the gate, House's leg is protesting loudly. Fishing the Vicodin bottle from his pocket he takes one as the guard wordlessly checks his ID badge and opens the gate. As he walks through the gate, he looks up at the massive building in front of him and rolls his eyes before turning right and heading towards a smaller wing. Reaching the door, he punches in the four-digit entry code and pushes it open. Letting the door slam behind him, House unlocks the door on his left and enters his office. Dropping his bag next to the desk he eases himself into the chair behind him. "7.02. Doctor House clocks in" he murmurs to himself checking sight of the clock on the wall. Despite only working here two months House had rapidly settled into life as the prison physician at Newport State Penitentiary.

Following the infarction 6 months ago, House had fled Princeton. The injury had made his angry and bitter and he wanted to abandon all the vestiges of his old life. Stacey had begged him to stay but every time he looked at her all he could see was her betrayal. It hadn't taken him long to find work once who was mobile again, the prison administrator seemed more concerned with House being over-qualified than his disability. The job was easy for the most part, dispensing medication and treating minor ailments though there was the occasional emergencies – an inmate who some how had got on the wrong side of the wrong person. House reaches forward grabbing an over-sized tennis ball from his desk and began tossing it from hand to hand. _Hours of boredom punctuated by moments of panic _he reflected.

-----

Around 6.30 House begins to tidy the treatment room. As the only member of staff on duty the job fell to him anyway but he liked the routine of putting everything away at the end of the day. It had been a fairly slow day, the highlight being when a particularly unpleasant inmate called Matheson had been brought in with a broken nose. He claimed it was the result of an accident in the workshop but House doubted his story. He had seen plenty of fight injuries in his time and silently congratulated whoever landed the punch as he taped up Matheson's nose. Just as he was putting the last of the boxes back in the cabinet the phone rang. Pushing himself across the room on a wheeled stool, he answers the phone brusquely.

"Infirmary. This better be a quick one, I'm off in 25 minutes".

"House, it's Davies. We've got a bad one. Guy was missing at checks. We found him in the laundry barely conscious. Looks like he was there a while." House swore loudly.

"Right. Get his over here asap. What's the status?"

"All I know for sure is he's got an open head wound. The guy's had seven shades of shit beat out of him."

"Got it." said House hanging up the phone. He throws his jacket at a hook on the wall as he wheels back across the room to the cabinets. He starts pulling out supplies and tossing them onto the counter. Pulling himself to standing, he gets a pair of gloves from the drawer and is putting them on as Davies and another guard burst through the doors supporting the inmate between them.

"Get him up on the table" House barks. The guards don't hesitate and between them pull the unconscious man onto the table before stepping back. The guard House didn't recognise quickly left the room as House begins his preliminary examination. Examining the head wound House notices a bloody towel caught on the man's shoulder and looks quizzically at Davies.

"Which one of you thought to try and stop the bleeding". Davies looks confused for a moment before replying.

"Neither of us did. The guy had it against his head when we found him." House looks down at the unconscious man in front of him. _Smart move_. He starts moving around the table assessing for further injuries. As well as extensive bruising he notices the inmates ragged breathing.

"Broken rib" he murmurs. As he feels along the left arm, the man moans slightly _And a broken ulna_ he thinks to himself. Without look up he says:

"Hey Davies. What's the guy's name? I'm gonna try wake him"

"Wilson. I think his first name's James but I'm not sure." House raises his head and looks at Davies.

"You might as well head back to the block. I'm sure they're all in a flap over there without you. Besides you're only in my way here". Davies grins and walks over to the door.

"Whatever you say House" he replies. "If you need help just ring the office, he's in section E". He leaves silently as House moves back to the head of the table, pulling over the stool so he can sit. He leans over the man on the table slightly

"Hey Wilson, wake up". The man stirs slightly but doesn't wake up. House sighs and tries again.

"Wilson, it's time to wake up." The guys shifts again but doesn't respond. House brushes the hair back from the inmate's forehead to take a temperature.

"Come on James, you need to wake up." At that, Wilson's eyes open slowly and large brown eyes lock with House's

"Where am I?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Thank you for all your lovely reviews, they really do encourage me to get on with the next chapter.

I would just like to apologise for the odd use of tense in the first chapter, I haven't written any fiction in a long time so I'm really just getting back to grips with everything. Hopefully this one flows better.

NB: Sorry for the delay getting this up, I'm perpetually blighted by writer's block then went weird so I couldn't post. Hope its worth the wait

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James Wilson had given up on getting anymore sleep. He had been woken about an hour ago by the guy in the next cell having a nightmare and, despite trying to get back to sleep, was now wide awake. He sat up on his narrow bed and leaned against the wall behind him. He had no idea what the time was having traded his wristwatch for a book a week ago but he figured it was close to dawn. He pulled his knees up to his chin and sighed, he hated being such a light sleeper. It would be a couple of hours until breakfast so he slid his hand under the mattress and retrieved his book. Wilson had some regret about trading the watch, it had been a gift from his brother, but he desperately needed something to distract him on the nights where he just couldn't sleep. He looked at the cover with a wry smile. _Talk about appropriate reading material _he thought to himself as he opened the book. The light in the hall was minimal but if he shifted to the foot of his bed it was just enough to read by though he doubted he was doing his eyesight any favours. He flicked through the pages and found where he had stopped last time. He smoothed out the dog-eared page and re-immersed himself in _The Count of Monte Crisco._

---

Wilson had read a couple of chapters before the lights came up and morning checks began. He returned the book under the mattress and pulled on his shirt as the doors slid open allowing the inmates to head to breakfast. He did the final button then headed to the food hall. Grabbing a tray he went to the serving hatch and received a bowl of sickly looking oatmeal and a cup of black coffee. He swiped a couple of creamers and plastic cutlery before seeking out an empty table. The food was terrible but being awake for almost three hours had done nothing but increase his appetite. He began to eat slowly, watching the room around him slowly fill up. He had only been at Newport Penitentiary a couple of weeks but Wilson already had a good idea of who to avoid if he wanted a peaceful life. He had always had a knack for reading social situations and prison life was proving a useful test for those skills. There were the usual groups one would suspects as well as the loners on the fringe. Wilson hadn't been there long enough to integrate into a group but he seriously doubted that he would want to. They made him feel uncomfortable.

There was one group, led by an inmate called Matheson, which made him particularly nervous. Matheson had a tendency to stare at Wilson and he had a pretty strong idea why. He had heard stories about prison rape and it hadn't taken Wilson long to see the truth for himself once he arrived in prison. Wilson had never been straight as the proverbial arrow but he had no wish to get on that side of anyone in here and so avoided contact with anyone in Matheson's circle. However this was getting increasingly difficult as time went on and Wilson realised that there was only so long he could go before getting ensnared by Matheson or one of his cronies, it was just a matter of time. _Something that certainly isn't on my side_ thought Wilson with a grimace as he finished his meal. He got up from the table and returned his tray before leaving the eating area, not noticing the eyes of Matheson watch him as he went.

---

Wilson had successfully avoided Matheson and his cronies all morning and decided during lunch – something dubiously called the fish special - that he was gonna do some laundry in the afternoon as most of the inmates would either be in the yard or on work detail. After going to his cell to pick up his bedding he headed over the laundry. He got some detergent from the dispenser and shovelled everything into the machine before switching it on. Resting against the machine, Wilson smiled to himself and closed his eyes, relishing the quiet moment. He was so lost in thought in thought that he didn't hear the door open or the muttered "Wait for me out here, I don't need a fucking audience". In fact he wasn't aware he had company until he opened his eyes to see Matheson staring at him. Wilson stumbled back slightly in surprise causing Matheson to laugh. Wilson moved away from the row of machines trying to get some space in between them. "What do you want Matheson, I'm not bothering you here" he said, trying to keep calm. Matheson just leered at him before replying "Don't mind me, brown eyes. I'm just here enjoying the view". He stalked up to Wilson and placed his hand on the younger man's chest. "No harm in that, is there?". Wilson stepped back, shaking his head slightly saying "Look, really, I don't want any trouble". Matheson quickly closed the gap between them and leaned closer. "Then just let me have what I want" he said and with that Matheson grabbed Wilson by the hair and pulled him closer, attempting to kiss him

Wilson pulled away and before he realised what he was doing punched Matheson squarely in the face. He heard the crack and could only look in horror as blood began pouring down the other man's face. "Oh you're gonna regret that brown eyes" said Matheson holding his hand to his bloody nose. He turned and left the laundry letting the door bang shut behind. Wilson breathed a sigh of relief and sank against one of the dryers. Moments later the door slammed open and two of Matheson's gang came in, one of them carrying a short length of pipe. They rushed at him and Wilson barely had time to raise his arm to defend himself before the pipe smashed against his arm. He cried out as he felt the bone break and instinctively pulled it to his chest. He barely had time to register one of the thugs saying "Shut him up" before the pipe came down against his skull and everything went black.

When Wilson came to, he was still laying on the laundry floor. He took a slow breath and let out a whimper as he felt a sharp pain in his chest. He lifted his right hand to his head where the pipe had hit and it came away bloody. He tried to stay calm but tears began to slowly fall as he realised how bad the situation was. Wilson knew he was seriously hurt but no one knew where he was or that he was hurt. He spied near him a stack of towels that must have been knocked over when he was attacked and reached over with his good arm to grab one, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his chest. He held it to his head and silently prayed that help came soon. He didn't know how much time had passed when the guards found him. He was dimly aware of one of them making a call on his radio but when they picked him up he cried out before once again sliding into the blackness.

Wilson was brought back to reality when a bolt of pain shot through his left arm though he didn't wake up fully. He wasn't ready to open his eyes and deal with more pain. Then he heard someone say his name.

"Come on James, you need to wake up."

He opened his eyes then, wanting to see who had addressed him by his first name, the name he hadn't heard in weeks. The first thing he could focus on was a concerned pair of bright blue eyes looking down at him.

"Where am I?" Wilson asked


End file.
